Stolen Kiss by JonesnInDaHood
by Midnight Delight NYE Contest
Summary: Bella Swan's secret crush has no idea she exists. But she's not the only one with a secret.


**Contest entry for the Midnight Delight NYE Contest**

 **Title:** Stolen Kiss

 **Pairing:** Bella & Edward

 **Rating:** M

 **Word Count:** 6,355

 **Summary:** Bella Swan's secret crush has no idea she exists. But she's not the only one with a secret.

 **Disclaimer:** Twilight and its inclusive material is copyright to Stephenie Meyer. Original creation, including but not limited to plot and characters, is copyright to the respective authors of each story. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

 **Stolen Kiss**

The tang of stale beer assaults me the second Rose and I enter the crowded bar.

Televisions blare from the surrounding walls. Drunken college-age kids throw their heads back in laughter, shouting, sloshing frothy beer over the edges of their glasses and spilling it on my butter-soft leather boots.

Some apologize.

Some don't.

Elbows dig into my sides. People mumble their excuses, offer a weak, humble smile, and pass. Some throw an appreciative gaze trailing up and down my body, but abruptly stop once they reach the frown on my face.

Rose grabs my hand and all but drags me through the maze of swarming bodies.

We arrive at a small, round table that's miraculously unoccupied. Rose practically picks me up and throws me on top of the tall barstool. Standing at five-eleven, she dwarfs me by nearly a foot. I'm that short.

"Don't people go home for Christmas break?" I grumble loudly over the roar of the crowd.

Rose sits on the stool next to me, studying the throng of people. "I don't know, Bella. _Do_ they?" Her gaze settles on mine briefly, her head tilts, and she's got one eyebrow raised. A hint of a mocking smile tickles her lips.

"They should. Unless they hate home as much as I do." I gesture at a passing waitress holding a serving tray full of beers. She nods and raises one finger. When she notices Rose's steely gaze, she picks up the pace, depositing each beer hastily and heading our way.

"What'll it be, ladies?" She's asking us both, but only looking at Rose.

Rose starts to order a Bud Light, then changes her mind and orders an Abita.

"And for you?"

I have to yell over the sound of the live band playing across the room. "Do y'all have cherry Coke?"

The waitress raises an eyebrow. "Uh, no. You do realize you're in a bar on New Year's Eve, don't you?" She might as well be asking what kind of college-age loser orders a cherry Coke in celebration of New Year's Eve.

Rose raps her long, polished nails atop the surface of the wobbly table and stares the waitress down with her icy-blue eyes. "Y'all got cherries for mixed drinks, and y'all got Coke. Put the two together and guess what? You've got cherry-flavored Coke. What's the problem?"

The young waitress drinks in a deep breath, nods, and scribbles on her pad. "One Abita Select and one cherry Coke coming right up."

"What about our appetizers? You didn't ask if we wanted any food." I half-expect Rose to huff at the end of her sentence, but she doesn't.

"Just bring us a sampler appetizer if you don't mind." I reach out and awkwardly pat the girl's arm. She gives me a brief smile and avoids Rose's lethal glare. Guess I'm no longer invisible now.

The waitress scurries away and Rose huffs in indignation. I half expect her to mumble, "Can't find good help these days," but she stays silent, scanning the bar.

"You shouldn't do that."

"Do what?" She's still searching the bar for something, or someone.

"Use your powers against people." I go silent as the waitress arrives and deposits our drinks. She gives us both a syrupy-sweet smile, and I pray she didn't spit in our drinks. As usual, my roommate reads my mind.

"Did you spit in our drinks?"

The girl's eyes go wide and she stumbles over her words. "No, uh, I'd never—"

"Just fucking with you." Rose takes a long pull of the beer, her eyes twinkling. Then her face grows serious. "But if you did and I find out …" She leaves the unspoken threat hanging.

The girl nods and stumbles away with the grace of a one-legged pirate. I almost feel sorry for her until I remember the look she gave me when I ordered my drink.

"How'd you know—"

"Watched her make them," Rose replies, gaze finally settling on mine. "What powers are you talking about?"

"You know what powers."

Frowning, Rose shakes her head. "I don't have any powers, Bella. I'm assertive and take no shit. You're the same way when you're not worried about hurting someone's feelings."

"Nah, I'm nothing like you." It's not said in a derogatory way. More like a sad, wistful sort of way.

Not only is she commanding, statuesque, and downright scary, Rosalie Hale is hands-down the most beautiful person I've ever seen, male or female. High cheekbones, a regal nose. Eyebrows perfectly shaped, blinding blue eyes surrounded in long eyelashes. Blonde hair spills over her shoulders in waves. It's the perfect texture. Thick, silky, and never frizzes in the middle of a deep-south summer. She wears a faceful of makeup even when she's just skipping down to the main entryway of our apartment complex to check the mail. Even in the comfort of home on nights without it, she's gorgeous. A natural beauty who doesn't need makeup to perfect perfection. I'd almost be jealous of her if she wasn't the best thing that's ever happened to me.

"Who are you looking for?" I ask once she's back in scan mode.

"Emmett McCarty. He owns this bar."

"Really?" I perk up a little at the prospect, thoughts of discount BBQ nachos topped with jalapenos drifting through my mind. I may be small, but I'm always hungry. Always. And I can eat my weight in BBQ.

"Why are you looking for him?"

Rose takes a drink of her beer and then casually says, "Because I intend to marry him and birth his children someday."

I very nearly choke on a mouthful of cherry Coke.

Rosalie Hale, a mother? I can't believe what I'm hearing.

"I know I said I hate kids, but that's just other people's kids. Ya know? It's whatever. Shut up." She starts, holds, then ends the conversation all on her own while I sit back and sip on my drink.

It's subpar. Nothing like the cherry Coke at Los Amigos down the street.

Speaking of which, where are those nachos?

As if the distressed waitress reads my mind she emerges from the crowd to plant the sampler in the center of the table with a wish for us to enjoy.

And enjoy we do. At least I do, diving right in as Rose picks around the plate scowling, her attention pulled elsewhere once I'm knuckle-deep in some melted cheese.

"So pathetic."

Mouth full of queso, I motion as if to ask her what the hell her problem is. Neither one of us has had supper and I have to eat. She knows this about me.

"Not you. Over there."

I follow her gaze to a rounded booth in the corner that's surrounded by girls in short, sparkly dresses and too-high heels.

Kind of like us but sluttier.

"You know them?"

"Not them. Him." She motions with her head for me to take another look once the flock disperses and reveals the center of their attention.

"Jasper? What's wrong with Jasper? I thought—"

"Not Jasper, Jesus. I know you have the hots for him. And while I'd merely suggested his long, scraggly blond and your beautiful brown hair might contrast, we talked about it and I've given my blessing."

How lucky of me.

"I'm talking about E.J."

E.J.?

"Who's that?"

"Are you serious?" Rose asks like I'm stupid for not knowing every person ever.

My eyebrows rise as I reach for another cheese stick.

"He's a third year, tight end."

I shrug.

"Everyone with a vagina and a few who don't have one know who he is."

I bite into a loaded potato skin.

"He's a guaranteed draft into the NFL. I bet they're already courting him. Same with our quarterback."

"Courting? As in illegally?"

Rose gives a look to say I didn't hear it from her.

"And what exactly is the difference between a tight end and a quarterback?"

Rose huffs a laugh, both of us going for a BBQ wing. "About two million dollars."

I let out a low whistle under the thrum of the music. I've never seen so much money. Wouldn't know what to do with it if I did.

"Yeah, too bad _he's_ not the quarterback instead of Tyler Crowley, who looks like a Neanderthal. Oh God, here he comes. Act normal." Rose throws down her wing and picks up a napkin to daintily dab at her mouth and not mess up her lipstick. "Did I get it all?" she asks, cleaning her hands with a wet wipe.

I nod, sucking the leftover sauce off my fingers.

She balls up an unused napkin and tosses it at me. "Jesus, Bella, clean yourself up, would ya? We're about to be in the presence of a legend."

I can't tell if Rose is being sarcastic or not. But I go ahead and take her lead, doing as she requests. She hasn't steered me wrong yet.

As the man in question strides toward our table, I'm reminded of one of my biggest pet peeves. I can't stand it when someone notices my height. As someone who was teased as a child for being vertically challenged, it's always been a touchy subject. I hate meeting people and getting a "you're so short" in place of an introduction. Because of this, I try my best to not take notice of people because of their height, weight, or features in general.

But I'll be damned if the first thing I notice about E.J. isn't his height.

Because he's tall. Like, six-five at least, and pure lean muscle mass with a tapered waist. He's got that southern-boy sweep to his thick hair. It's an unfortunate, overused hairstyle, but forgivable considering the rest of his person is especially attractive. His hair is the color of a penny, and his eyes are a deep forest-green. There's a happy, carefree smile on his face that looks genuine. It's the kind of smile that makes a person automatically smile back in return. I briefly pull my phone out of my bag and pretend I'm perusing the web, but in reality I'm surreptitiously checking my teeth on the front-facing camera, searching for bits food lodged between them. Finding none, I put my phone away just as he arrives at our table.

"Daisy, Daisy. Give me your answer do," this E.J. character sings rather badly, sidling up to Rose and pushing the floppy auburn locks off his forehead.

His crisp white button-down shirt is unbuttoned at the collar under a loosened, skinny, black tie.

"Ha ha. Very funny, E. But you know that's not my name." Rose laughs lowly, craning her neck back toward me to roll her eyes.

I crinkle my nose in a fake closed mouth smile. So she had been being sarcastic.

"Yeah, I know your name, Rosie." He shoves his hands in the pockets of his black skinny jeans.

"This here with me is—"

"Bella. I know that, too."

"I'm sorry, have we met?" I ask, racking my brain but coming up empty.

Pulling his right hand from his pocket he rubs his scruffy jaw. "Not really. We had English Lit together. I sat a few rows back and to the left. You never noticed me," he states rather than asks.

I shake my head and he copies my movement.

"Yeah well, that's cool," he says and clears his throat, trying to act cool but clearly not.

Plus English Lit was two years ago. The class was so packed I didn't take notice of anybody but the professor.

My gaze flickers to the booth behind him, where a girl struts up to talk to Jasper.

E.J. follows my gaze.

To my horror Rose does too, divulging my most sacred secret.

"Bella's got a thing for your friend over there."

"A thing. For who, Jasper?"

He doesn't have to seem so surprised.

"You think you can introduce them?"

"Uh, yes?" It comes out more of a question than an answer.

Damn, this jock is kind of a dork. But I guess I am too because I sense a kinship and find myself grabbing E.J.'s dress shirt sleeve as he starts to turn in Jasper's direction. I beg him to keep my secret.

"Not a word."

I haven't blushed this hard since I spiked a wayward volleyball against Mike Newton's head back in high school. Unlike E.J., I'm not known for my athleticism.

Who knew a volleyball could give someone a concussion?

E.J. glances down at my hand on his sleeve and raises an eyebrow. I release my grip and attempt to smooth the wrinkles from his shirt like the nerd I am.

"Sorry, I'm nervous." I fan myself a little. _Why's it so hot in here?_ "Jasper's just … so out of my league."

E.J. casts a look to Jasper before volleying it back to me, his brow pinched in confusion. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, why would I be?"

"Uh, most girls notice the other guys at the table first."

E.J. sits at the table with me, taking Rose's place. She abandoned us sometime during the conversation and I hadn't even noticed. I spot her blonde, glossy mane on the fringes of the crowd. A big, beefy guy with hands the size of dinner plates is chatting her up from behind the bar. She's throwing back her head in laughter, really amping up the flirtation. This must be Emmett.

"What's so special about the other guys at your table?"

E.J. carefully studies my face. "You don't know who any of the guys at that table are?"

Jasper's joined at E.J.'s table by a throng of guys as equally buff as my new table companion. A horde of perfectly prim, trim, and plucked girls swarm around them. Most cling to the guys, fake, forced laughter flowing from their glossy, heart-shaped lips.

"I'm guessing they're jocks like you?"

I look at Jasper, a fellow Vet major like myself, who is definitely not a jock. He's standard stock and height. A little soft instead of muscular. His smile is easy and his hair is unkempt. Four-day-old stubble shadows his face. He's dressed casual and sipping from a longneck. His skin is buttered-bread brown from summers working on his family farm. No one clings to him. I brighten.

No competition. Bonus.

Unfortunately, although we're attending the same program at the same college, Jasper has yet to acknowledge my existence.

"Yeah, they're jocks, and those girls are jersey chasers. So are about ninety-nine percent of the female population in this college."

Wrinkling my nose, I say, "Honestly, I don't see the appeal."

His eyebrows shoot up and I immediately feel the urge to apologize. "Nothing against you or your friends, of course. Personally, I just couldn't do it."

"Do what? Date a jock?" He leans back in the chair, his back hitting the wall. An expression of surprise and disbelief shadows his face. "Why's that?"

I start ticking off the reasons on my BBQ-stained fingertips. "Constant competition against other more gorgeous girls, always being in the spotlight. Worrying about my boyfriend's well-being every time he steps onto the field."

"Most of the girls like the attention." He shrugs. "But most of them are also looking for a free ride. They watch these baller-wives shows on TV and start dreaming of being the kept woman of an NFL star."

I wrinkle my nose. "Really?"

He nods. "As for competition, I really wouldn't worry about that."

Of course _he_ wouldn't _._

The waitress from earlier swings back around claiming to check on the table but what she actually checks on is E.J. She pesters him about ordering something, anything he wants. The innuendo is not lost on either of us.

We share an amused look.

He brushes her off with a "nah, but thank you," a tilt of his head, and a crooked smile. I feel that gesture just as hard as she surely does.

Her hand lands on his forearm and she gives it a squeeze before walking off with an exaggerated swing to her hips.

Embarrassingly enough, I find that I'm the one watching her ass and not E.J.

"You okay?" he asks. I just look at him. "You sure it's still Jasper you want me to talk to?"

I ignore his thoughtful inquiry about me batting for the other team. "Does that kind of thing happen to you all the time?"

He shrugs, not bothering to ask before reaching for a nacho and dipping it in the cheese. "Often enough, I guess. Don't really notice anymore. Why? Things like that don't happen to you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah," he says with a mouthful of chewed up chip like I'm the weird one.

He's kidding, right?

"No. Stuff like that never happens to me. Why would it?"

"Why wouldn't it?"

I eye E.J. with suspicion, unsure if he's making fun of me or not.

He continues eating my food like he's the one who ordered it.

I dig in after him, leaning forward to rest my elbows on the table and watch Rose flirt from across the room. I'm taking pointers for when I actually talk to Jasper. A subtle flip of the hair over the shoulder. A light touch to his biceps when I lean in to laugh if he says something especially funny.

This is going to be a fucking disaster.

Nowhere in God's great plan for me was the ability to flirt.

"Hello? Bella? Are you listening?" E.J. waves his big hand and long fingers in my face.

I lean back, blinking.

"You still want to meet Jasper or not?"

"I do."

He nods once, gracefully removing himself from his seat.

My short legs make a struggle of it, my thighs sticking to the leather as I try to slide off.

A surprised noise whooshes out of me when E.J. grabs me by the waist and lifts me off the stool. His hands linger a moment until I've gathered my bearings and gesture that it's okay for him to let go.

The crowd parts like the Red Sea as we make our way through the bar. I swear I feel his fingertips at the small of my back when a few overly-made-up girls throw jealous scowls in my direction. I wonder if they know how awkwardly adorable E.J. is, or if they only care about his looks and baller status. The thought makes me a little angry.

Whoa. Where'd that come from?

I shake the thought away as we approach Jasper's table. The other guys have abandoned him to join the girls on the dance floor. Jasper sits alone, smiling lazily at the antics of his drunk friends as they attempt to dance. He tips his beer at E.J. when we approach. My belly bunches in nervousness.

"Scoot over, man. I've got someone here you want to meet," E.J. says. I'm thankful for the wording but flush anyway.

Jasper's eyes never leave me as he slides to his right. E.J. applies pressure on my back and I sit, hopping on my butt to make room for him in the booth as well.

"J, this is Bella. Bella, this is J. You guys are in the veterinary program together."

I glance over at E.J. trying to remember if I told him my major. I mean, I must have. How else would he have known?

Jasper smiles one of his smiles that I like most. I smile back, noticing heat on my upper back before I spy E.J.'s hand resting on the booth behind me. His right side is touching my left from foot to shoulder. In fact, I'm pretty sure my shoulder has nuzzled itself into his armpit.

I refuse to look and find out for sure.

"Yeah, Bella. I've seen you around. How's it going? You surviving this semester?"

"Yeah. I mean, Banner is tough. But I'm hanging in there. How 'bout you?"

Jasper starts in on Banner and how he can't stand him. I agree with smiles and nods, the whole time playing back Rose's moves in my head. When he says something that especially tickles me I lean forward and laugh, placing my hand over his forearm.

Jasper doesn't pull away so I think I'm nailing this even though I feel like an utter idiot.

Slowly, seductively, I slide my hand off Jasper's arm and down to adjust myself in the booth. When my hand reaches for the cushioned seat underneath me, my palm lands on something hard and definitely not cushioned.

I accidentally get a handful of E.J.'s muscular thigh. His sinewy, powerful, _hard_ thigh.

Briefly looking down, I pull my hand away really fast then plant my elbows on the table.

Jasper continues to ask generic questions like if I live on or off campus and what I do with my free time. I struggle to keep up conversation while my mind remains fixed on the fluttery sensation I felt in the pit of my belly when I touched E.J.'s leg.

I'm in the midst of telling Jasper I enjoy a book or two a week when I feel soft tugs on the ends of my hair.

I turn my neck to check it's not gotten stuck to anything on the back of the booth but it's lying against my back. When I glance over at E.J. he's looking in the other direction.

Weird.

I turn my attention back to Jasper. His attention is on E.J.'s arm splayed across the back of the booth behind my head.

Jasper polishes off the rest of his beer and points the empty longneck in the direction of the bar. "I've run dry. I'm gonna grab another beer. You want one?" The question is directed at me alone.

"No thanks. I don't drink," I say with a shrug. In my peripheral, I notice E.J. staring at me.

"Yeah, neither does E.J." Jasper smirks. "Looks like y'all have a lot in common. So, hey, I'll grab my beer and catch up with the two of you in a few, 'kay?"

I barely notice him leave the booth. "You don't drink?"

Edward shrugs. "Child of an alcoholic."

"Yeah, same," I say quietly.

Our gazes latch together in silent understanding. We stare at each other a beat too long.

Clearing my throat I ask, "So, what's with the name? E.J. What's it stand for?"

He ducks his head, tucking away an embarrassed smile. It enhances the sharpness of his jawline. His nose is slightly crooked. Probably broken a time or two during a game. Something about finding an imperfection in his otherwise flawless features makes me feel a little bit better about myself.

"Yeah, uh." He chuckles. "It's short for Edward Masen Junior."

For some reason, I want to soften his blow of embarrassment. "Edward's not bad," I tell him, wholly honest. "In fact, from now on I'm gonna call you Edward."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Am I rambling? I feel like I'm rambling. "Some of my favorite book boyfriends are named Edward. Kind of an old fashioned name, but still better than mine."

"Really? So what's your whole name?"

"Nuh uh." Wagging my finger in his face, I shake my head. "I never reveal my full name on the first date. Don't want to run the guy off too soon."

I realize what I've said as soon as I say it.

Hello, foot. Meet mouth.

"Date, huh?" His grin is dazzling. Fucking _dazzling_. "Is that what this is? I was unaware." The tips of my hair are tweaked again.

 _Oh my God. Kill me now._

"No! That's not what I meant." My face floods with heated embarrassment, and a weird, braying laugh erupts from the back of my throat. "Obviously not. I mean, you're not even my type, you know?"

"Really?" Smirking, E.J. raises an eyebrow. "You sure that wasn't a Freudian slip of the tongue?"

The way he says "tongue" makes me hyper-aware of his mouth. Speaking of which, the tip of his tongue darts out to wet his lips. I imagine his tongue wetting other areas. Primarily the one between my legs.

 _Wait, what?_

"Jasper," I manage to rasp out. "You were trying to hook me up with Jasper. I've had a crush on him for like three years."

Edward nods. His eyes scan the crowd. "Where'd that kid go?"

I don't reply, but I see him. Jasper's leaning on the bar not far from where Rose is still flirting with the large bartender. There's a tiny slip of a woman standing beside Jasper, even smaller than me. She has dark hair and better shoes. Even from this distance I can tell her smile is blinding. The two of them are laughing like old friends.

Bella forgotten.

"Wipe that look off your face," Edward says. "You're not going down that easy." He gestures to a passing waitress and orders two waters.

I quirk a brow.

"First, we need to hydrate."

Edward keeps me in suspense until the waitress returns with our waters. He chugs most of his without so much as a breath, gesturing for me to hurry up and get started. I take a small sip then set it back on the table, tapping the glass while I wait for him to finish.

"Okay, so, here's what we're gonna do."

I'm all ears.

"It's nearly midnight."

Shit, is it?

I glance the clock on the wall.

Well shit, it is.

This night has absolutely flown by.

"You're gonna get up, get over there, and kiss the shit out of Jasper when the clock strikes twelve."

"Yeah, definitely. Wait, wha—No!"

"Yes." Edward grabs my hand, pulling me along as he slides out of the booth. He nudges me from behind. I look back in panic. He smiles assuringly, nudging me again.

That second nudge does it and I'm walking across the bar. People are counting loudly down from ten. My stomach is flipping and flopping back and forth. It sinks once the countdown hits one and the crowd parts, showcasing the moment Jasper's lips touch somebody else's.

I stand there in shock, unable to stop staring until Edward steps in front of me, his tall frame blocking my view.

His fingers lift my chin, my gaze rising from his chest to his mouth just before it descends upon mine.

Surprise knocks me backward. One of Edward's hands glides around my back to hold me upright while the other cradles my jaw, sliding to my neck just before he tries to deepen the kiss.

His lips are warm and soft, contrasting with the cool wetness lingering on his tongue from the water.

I very nearly lose myself in his mouth, his scent, that fact that his arms make me feel as small and dainty as I always have. Only this time I like it.

It's foreign to me to enjoy any sort of pressure. Especially the kind that's currently encompassing my body. If he gives just a slight squeeze he'll likely snap me in two.

Edward's tongue does a full sweep of my mouth. The taste of it snaps some kind of sense into me. I place my hands on his chest and oh, it's as hard and muscular as his thigh. But instead of getting swept back up in everything Edward, I push him away because I know what this is.

It's a pity kiss.

"What are you doing?" I ask even though I know the answer. I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment.

"Stealing a New Year's kiss." His eyes search mine. I search his in return, seeing no ruthfulness there. But I've never been the best at picking up on people's intentions before either.

"Why would you do that?"

"I thought it was obvious."

"It was?"

I realize I've still got my hands on his chest and drop them to my sides.

Edward shoves his hands in his pockets. "Apparently not."

"Listen, I don't need your pity, okay? And the next time you want to help … just don't." Turning away from Edward I head for the door, pulling out my phone to order an Uber. By the grace of God the driver is getting ready to pass by the bar any minute. By the time I make it outside they are already there waiting for me.

Once we're on the road I send Rose a text to let her know I left and where I'm heading. I ignore her inquiries of what is going on until I'm home and in my oversized sleep shirt, ready to crawl into bed.

Because it's Rose, I spill everything in a voice recording. She replies with a line of shocked face emojis, unable get over the fact that E.J. Masen kissed me. She has every right to be shocked, but it still makes me feel worse than I already do. As if it confirms my suspicion that he did it out of pity.

Laying the phone face down on the pillow beside me I close my eyes, the drama of the whole night finally catching up to me. I'm almost asleep when there's a knock on the door. I bolt straight up in bed and sit there, jumping in place when whoever it is knocks louder.

My heart's racing. I consider hiding under the covers until whoever it is goes away. But then I hear a voice. Edward's voice is coming through the walls. They're so thin he could probably break through them if he really wanted in here badly enough.

It's a little muffled but I know he says my name, followed by a few indecipherable words.

Covering my head with my pillow, I yell, "Go away!"

"Not until you hear me out," he hollers back.

With a groan and a chest filled with dread, I trudge to the door and open it as far as the chained lock will allow. On the other side of the door Edward stands with his hands in his pockets, and the audacity to look completely innocent of any wrongdoing.

"Will you please let me in so I can look you in the eyes while we talk?"

"I see your eyes just fine."

Edward sighs and drags his fingers through his hair, disrupting that stupid, overgrown sweep away from his forehead.

"Look, it wasn't a pity kiss, okay? The look on your face when you saw Jasper kissing that girl made me sick, but I didn't steal that kiss from you out of pity. I stole it because I wanted to. Bella, I've wanted to kiss you ever since freshman year."

My heart speeds up again and my fingers toy with the lock chain. "You really wanted to kiss me? Ever since freshman year?"

For the first time since I met him tonight, he frowns, looking pained. "God, yes." He leans further into the crack of the door in an attempt to get closer. "From the moment I saw you across the quad. You were walking with Rose. She said something and you threw your head back and laughed." He studies my face. "I was done. The moment I saw that smile."

"Why didn't you say anything? Introduce yourself?"

"I don't know." He looks down at his dress shoes, then peeks back up at me. "Nerves, maybe? I'd never felt so nervous to talk to a girl before. So I hung back, learned your schedule, and hoped to run into you naturally. I tried so many times to talk to you. But you always had your head down, looking like you were in a hurry to get somewhere. You never looked up. You never saw me. You never noticed."

Well, I notice now.

"But then I saw you and Rosie looking at me tonight. _You_ were looking at me. I knew it might be my only chance." He lets out a humorless laugh. "Then I come to find out it's Jasper you're interested in."

"If you liked me so much, why'd you agree to introduce us?"

Edward levels a stare at me. "Because I'm not an asshole. If Jasper makes you happy … who am I to stand in the way of your happiness?"

His selflessness fills my heart. It cracks open.

I glance at the chain before slowly shutting the door to undo it. When I open the door back up, Edward's started down the hall. Leaning back against the door frame, I stop him with some concerns I have.

"Let me get this straight," I say.

He freezes then turns back around to face me. His gaze sweeps across my body, and I'm hyper-aware that I'm standing in front of a virtual stranger wearing nothing but a sleep shirt and my underwear.

"You've been quietly watching me for three years. And you memorized my schedule just to get the chance to talk to me?"

Edward frowns. "When you say it like that …"

"Makes you sound like a stalker." I give him an easy smile. The lines on his forehead smooth with my teasing tone.

He moves to approach me, his stride speeding up with the beat of my heart until he's right in front of me, his mouth meeting mine.

His hands cradle my face, his head tilting to deepen the kiss with a thorough sweep of his tongue. This time his tongue is hot and his lips are cold from just being outside. The exact opposite as the bar but just as good.

The stagnant air filling the hallway crackles around us.

My arms rise to wrap around Edward's neck. His hands release my face, traveling down my neck and chest and grazing the sides of my breasts.

 _Oh_.

I moan into his mouth, pushing my chest into his when his hands palm my bottom.

Shock shoots from my stomach to my center as he hoists me up effortlessly against the door frame, sliding his hands under my thighs to spread my legs and make room for his hips. His fingertips ease underneath the seam of my underwear when he lifts me, and I suddenly feel spread open for him. The sensation sends a current of heat washing over me. I shamelessly rub myself against him, desperate for friction.

I'm no virgin. Haven't been since Mike Newton forgave me for that volleyball incident back in high school. The slow, careful way Edward touches me makes up for the one fumbling-fingered boy before him.

When he lazily thrusts against me, I let out a moan that alerts the neighbors. They pound on the wall across the hall from us.

"We should take this inside," I mumble between kisses.

Edward presses his forehead against mine. He thrusts once more, brushing his erection against my center.

"Hold on," he whispers, and with the sound of the door closing behind us, he carries me to the bar.

The cold surface of the bar hits my bare legs. He sits me down, his mouth on mine once more. Those long fingers of his work the buttons of my sleep shirt. The fabric brushes my already pebbled nipples as he pushes the open shirt off my shoulders. I let it slide down, working my arms out of the sleeves. In the dim glow of the room, cast by the overhead light above my stove, I'm exposed. Edward takes a step back, his gaze sweeping over me in reverence. He parts my knees open and stares.

Glancing down, I internally cringe at the round, wet spot in the center of my underwear. Before I can get too embarrassed, he presses his thumb against the spot, sweeping around and finding the place that aches the most for him. My hips rise, my hands supporting my weight as I arch for him, head thrown back in ecstasy.

Somehow I manage to bear my weight on one elbow, reaching for his wrist with my other hand. I wrap my fingers around his wrist, ensnaring him, terrified he'll stop.

Terrified he won't.

Our eyes meet, me thrusting against him, him never breaking his gaze. His thumb works my clit slowly. He's unperturbed by the forceful, shameless way I speed up against him. His thumb moves around and around, flicking up and down occasionally.

"God, you're beautiful like this," he murmurs. And his words very nearly push me over the edge.

"I'm about to—" I'm panting, unable to finish my warning. "You're gonna make me—"

"Please," he says, and it sounds like a plea. "Please let me watch you come."

My fingers clench around his wrist with his words. The pressure of his thumb increases, pressing a fraction harder and circling a little tighter, giving my body what it needs.

"I want to touch you … underneath."

And now I'm the one begging. "Yes, please."

In one gentle swoop, his thumb works it's way underneath the wet fabric.

Without warning he dips deep inside only to pull out again, wetting my clit with his thumb.

The fresh wetness sends a wave of heat burning through me. My moan comes out high-pitched and needy. His free hand finds my bare breast. He lightly pinches my nipple, and my hips arch for the last time. My muscles clench and release again and again. Shuddering through my orgasm I rise, reaching for the buckle of Edward's belt.

"No." Now he's the one to encircle my wrist. He presses a gentle kiss against my lips. "I want to take my time with you."

"Isn't three years enough?"

Instead of taking his clothes off he helps me back into my sleepshirt, slowly buttoning each and every button.

"Three years is nothing compared to the amount of time I want to spend with you."

* * *

 **Hosts' note: Please leave the author some love. Reviews are encouragement. In case you have an idea of the author's identity, please do not disclose it in the reviews or anywhere else.**

 **Season's greetings**


End file.
